A Surgeon Who Uses Martial Arts [EN]: Chapter 344

“Hoo.”

Jun-hoo sighed, removing his surgical gloves.

He looked at the patient, now with a fresh bandage, his gaze filled with reassurance.

“Did the surgery go well?”

At Malik’s worried question, Jun-hoo turned to him, gazing intently before placing a hand on Malik’s shoulder.

The touch was affectionate.

“You worked hard too. You stayed by my side for a full three hours, even using the traction device.”

“It was tough, to be honest. I felt like my arm was going to fall off, and my legs were numb. But could it have been as hard as what you went through?”

Malik grinned, revealing his white teeth. The smile was infectious, and Jamal and Jun-hoo joined in.

They hadn’t known each other long, but a strong bond of camaraderie tied the three together.

From the struggle to save a patient’s life.

They were comrades who had fought side by side.

“What’s going to happen to Michael now? Should he still go to a hospital?”

“No, there’s no need. He just needs to get regular checkups from a doctor named Max and take his antibiotics.”

“Will he be able to use his shoulder again?”

“I minimized muscle resection and thoroughly scraped out the contaminated bone. If he doesn’t overexert himself, his shoulder should return to normal.”

Jun-hoo’s voice was calm.

During the surgery,

Jun-hoo’s top priority was saving the patient’s life.

But that didn’t mean he ignored the shoulder’s recovery.

He performed a debridement [surgical removal of dead or damaged tissue] on the areas contaminated by the bullet, ensuring natural healing even without a hospital visit.

Debridement.

A surgical procedure to remove necrotic tissue, encouraging the growth of new tissue in its place.

“Ah, wait. I forgot something for a moment.”

Jun-hoo lightly tapped his forehead with his palm.

Malik and Jamal tensed up at the word ‘forgot,’ swallowing nervously.

They seemed worried about a medical mishap.

Unfazed by the brothers’ anxiety, Jun-hoo placed his palm on the patient’s chest.

The internal energy radiating from his palm surged into the patient’s heart.

The moment the internal energy reached the heart,

The heart squeezed out the pooled blood like a car engine. With that formidable contractile force, the blood infused with internal energy spread throughout the body.

That’s right.

To aid the patient’s recovery,

Jun-hoo had performed the ‘Internal Energy Heart Infusion.’

If the internal energy, with its miraculous healing properties, spread evenly throughout the body, the patient’s recovery rate would be astonishingly fast.

“What are you doing?”

Malik tilted his head, unable to understand Jun-hoo’s actions.

“Well, you can think of it as a prayer to bless the patient.”

“You have a religion?”

“Religion… I’ve suffered and seen too much hardship to believe in a god.”

A bitter smile touched Jun-hoo’s lips.

The health bracelet that Sung-ho, who passed away from brain death, had given him reflected the light from the ceiling, twinkling brightly.

“Do you have a religion?”

“Of course, I do. How else could I survive in this harsh world without religion?”

“Christianity?”

“No.”

“Protestant? Catholic?”

Malik shook his head at the series of questions.

Then, he chuckled and mimed counting bills with one hand.

Jun-hoo felt like he knew what religion Malik believed in.

It was the hottest and most talked-about religion these days. The name of that religion was four letters: ‘Capitalism,’ or one letter: ‘Money.’

The conversation paused,

A cozy silence descended upon the operating room.

If the patient had lost his life,

Or failed to recover his shoulder,

A gloomy and somber silence would have fallen.

“You must be hungry after the surgery. Let’s grab something to eat. Come on. Jamal, keep an eye on Michael. I’ll bring back your food when we come back.”

“Okay.”

Jun-hoo followed Malik, who was walking ahead.

* * *

Leaving the gun store and crossing through the residential area, they arrived at a 24-hour McDonald’s.

Even though it was almost 2 AM, the McDonald’s was surprisingly crowded. About a third of the tables were occupied.

“There are quite a few people even at this hour?”

Jun-hoo asked Malik with a puzzled expression.

“Why do you think that is?”

“Well, maybe there are more people working at night than I thought?”

“If that were the case, it would be a happier reason.”

Malik, who had finished ordering at the kiosk, scanned the customers and clicked his tongue with a look of pity.

“All these people here are homeless.”

“Homeless?”

“Yeah. Homeless. People without homes. They don’t have a place to sleep and don’t want to sleep on the streets, so they order a drink or a meal and hang out here.”

Jun-hoo felt strange, as if he had seen the naked face of poverty.

He tried to imagine what life would be like, having to use McDonald’s as a shelter, but he couldn’t quite picture it.

At least, in Jun-hoo’s experience,

He had never seen people spending the night like this in Korea.

“You look shocked?”

“Quite a bit.”

“But the owner here is kind. Other stores are desperate to kick out the homeless.”

While talking, Malik and Jun-hoo sat down at a window seat.

The darkness outside the window was growing deeper. The silence that began on the empty road was flowing into the McDonald’s.

The store became quiet as well.

Jun-hoo suddenly noticed a person across from them.

He was dozing off, his chin resting on one hand.

His head swayed precariously whenever the arm supporting his head wobbled.

It looked like his head would collapse at any moment.

“Aren’t you tired?”

“Not really? I’m usually in good shape.”

Jun-hoo lightly clenched his fist.

If he went home and did his Qi [vital energy] circulation, his condition would be 100% recovered.

There would be no problem with tomorrow’s Boost Up program test.

“I want to do something for you for treating Michael, but I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t do it expecting anything in return.”

“Still, I can’t just ignore your kindness. Let me see… yeah, that would be good!”

Malik snapped his fingers cheerfully and took out his wallet from his pants.

He placed the item he took out of his wallet on the table and grinned.

“Why is this…”

Jun-hoo trailed off.

* * *

That early morning.

Clang!

A middle-aged man with an impressive mustache burst into the gun store with the loud sound of the doorbell.

“Oh, Max! I heard you were on a business trip, but you’re back early.”

Gun store owner Bob greeted Max, who was carrying a medical bag, with a welcoming smile.

“I heard Michael was shot. Is he really okay?”

Max asked, panting as he bent over.

He had sprinted from the parking lot to the gun store in his haste.

His legs were still shaking.

“Didn’t Malik contact you and tell you the surgery went well? I thought he would have for sure?”

“I heard the news.”

“Then why are you making such a fuss when you know everything?”

Bob looked bewildered, as if he didn’t understand.

“I just can’t bring myself to trust the kid who did the surgery. I heard he’s Asian and looks really young.”

“…….”

“If he botched the surgery, Michael could be in even more danger.”

“Well, I don’t think your surgeries are that perfect either?”

Bob’s voice was laced with sarcasm.

“This guy is picking a fight with me as soon as he sees me? I may be living like a bum now, but I used to be affiliated with UCLA Hospital.”

“That UCLA story… I’m tired of it. So tired.”

“I’m only saying this because you don’t believe me.”

“Yes, yes. Whatever you say.”

Max, having caught his breath, didn’t respond to Bob and went straight to the underground operating room.

Michael was lying on the operating table, with Jamal guarding his side.

“Max, you’re here? You came quickly?”

“How’s Michael doing?”

“As you can see, he’s doing great. Sleeping soundly.”

Unable to trust the words of a non-medical professional, Bob approached the operating table and examined Michael himself.

His temperature was 37 degrees Celsius, and his blood pressure was a normal 120/80 mmHg.

His breathing and pulse were also quite stable.

Unlike what he had feared, the surgery seemed to have gone well.

Honestly, it was hard to believe.

That a neighborhood resident he happened to know was a surgeon, and to top it off, had successfully performed shoulder gunshot surgery in this crude environment.

At this rate, he might lose his livelihood.

“Did that Asian doctor seem to be good at surgery?”

Max cautiously threw out a probing question.

“The surgery was so gruesome that I couldn’t watch properly, but he seemed skilled. Judging by the fact that Michael is still alive.”

“…….”

“He was also very calm and even called Michael’s parents to find out his blood type.”

At Jamal’s words, Max looked at the blood pack hanging on the IV stand. The letter O was written on the blood pack’s packaging.

Max was learning for the first time today that Michael was type O.

“Do you know where that doctor is from?”

“He’s from North Korea and his major is neurosurgery or something.”

“North Korea, huh…”

Max muttered to himself, stroking his chin.

A neurosurgeon from North Korea would likely be skilled at gunshot surgeries.

That place is under a dictatorship,

And human rights violations are commonplace.

Even if not as much as in the United States,

He would have had plenty of opportunities to treat gunshot patients.

“What are you doing?”

Jamal was startled when Max took something out of his medical bag and held it in his hand.

He had the eyes of a startled owl.

What Max was holding was a pair of scissors.

“I’m going to check the wound.”

“I told you the surgery went well?”

“How would you know that when you’re not a doctor?”

Snip. Snip.

Max unwrapped the bandage and examined Michael’s shoulder with his own eyes.

The Asian doctor had sewn the incision with 5-0 nylon in a simple interrupted suture [a type of stitch].

The suturing skills were astonishing.

nylon sutures had the advantage of reducing wound infection and inflammation, but they had the disadvantage of poor knot security and difficult handling.

But what do you know?

The doctor’s suturing was flawless.

The knots were straight lines, and the spacing between the knots was as even as if it had been measured with a ruler.

The tension with which the suture held the skin was also perfect.

“It took him less than 3 minutes to sew all that up.”

“What? Less than 3 minutes to sew 10 stitches?”

“His hands were moving so fast, swish, swish, swish?”

Jamal frantically waved his hands in the air as if imitating some kind of Asian martial art.

“Oh, right. That friend told me to give you this too.”

Jamal got up and took something out of the storage cabinet and handed it to Max.

One was a curved basin.

The crescent-shaped curved basin contained dried blood, bone fragments, a bullet, and blackened necrotic skin tissue.

The other was a memo with something scribbled on it.

Max brought the memo close to his eyes and read it carefully.

-Debridement of the contaminated skin wound and contaminated subscapular bone

-Remove a bullet

-Ruptured brachial artery branch dissection

After checking the note and the traces of the surgery left by the Asian doctor, Max shook his head.

He was an amazing guy.

Seeing that he had left the evidence in advance so that Max wouldn’t doubt his surgery.

On the other hand, Max also thought it was very fortunate. Perhaps going on a business trip was a stroke of genius.

With Max’s skills, he probably wouldn’t have been able to save Michael.